The Mockingjay Nest
by streetlightlove
Summary: Katniss Everdeen is institutionalized in the fall of 1948 after the tragic death of her sister. Once inside the asylum the dreams and nightmares that sent her there start to become a little too real. Katniss POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N to follow...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

1948

"Prim!" My howls tear me from my nightmare. The fire from the bomb that took my sister's life still flashes before my eyes, but eventually the inky blackness of my darkened bedroom fills in the edges of my vision, and my mind finally allows me to calm myself at the realization I am home, I am safe. Not like Prim.

She's dead.

My younger sister however was not killed by a fire bomb while snow fell from the sky; she drowned in the pond just a mile from our home this past spring. I can still remember the image of her blue, bloated body as they pulled her from the murky water, when my father thought he had blocked my view.

It had been a closed casket funeral. I heard whispers that the undertaker could do nothing about the state of her body, but while no one was looking I had snuck over to her cherry wood coffin and cautiously lifted the lid. I couldn't lift it enough for the light from the room to shine onto her face, but I was able to locate her cold porcelain hand, and into her palm I pressed the brass pin of a bird neither of us could ever identify. She had given it to me for my sixteenth birthday. She said it was good luck, but I would much rather bury everything I have with her.

That night the dreams began.

They aren't all bad; in fact in some of them I am overwhelmed by a sense of love, and camaraderie, but they are all strange. For one, Prim's face is the only one I can see—everyone else's faces are smeared, like water thrown on a freshly painted canvas. I can see their bodies and hear their voices, but their faces have remained a mystery.

The dreams don't seem to be following any sort of timeline, and sometimes a dream will repeat, but the characters are always the same. Some I know, like my mother and sister, just a different version of them, in a different place and time. But then there are others that I cannot explain, like the tall dark boy who I refer to as my best friend, or the drunk who seems to follow me around making sure I'm safe.

And then there is the blond boy, who I feel remarkably comfortable with, yet at other times conflicted as to what my true feelings for him are. But everytime he is near I feel safe and loved.

Once awake I cannot recollect any of these strangers' names. In my dreams, I know I speak their names freely, but once my eyes open and I am alone again I can't seem to get my lips to replicate the sounds.

I hear a soft knocking at my bedroom door, and I know that my father stands on the other side, while my mother probably stews in her bed at the interruption brought on by my nightmare. On nights like tonight when my dreams turn into terror, I always wake up screaming, and my father is always here to comfort me.

The door creaks open and my father slinks inside. Without a word he comes to my bed, sits on the edge, and takes me into his arms, holding me against his chest tightly until the tears begin and I start freeing myself from the horror I've just experienced. When I have gotten a hold of myself, and my sobs have sputtered out into the occasional hiccup, my father kisses the top of my head gently.

"What was it about this time?" he asks soothingly. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand before answering.

"It was the one with the bomb."

"Ah." He doesn't need to question me anymore. I have woken him up because of this dream many nights; he probably knows the details as well as if he had it himself. In this moment I am grateful for his familiarity, that way I don't have to speak about what I saw out loud.

We sit there silently for a long while, but then my father sighs loudly.

"Katniss, it's been almost six months since Prim…" his voice cracks on her name, "since your sister passed, and your nightmares haven't gotten any better." Something about the tone of his voice makes my stomach twist painfully.

"They're just dreams, Papa." I try to sound convincing, but I know I am failing.

"If that were true, I wouldn't be so worried, but you barely leave the house anymore, and there was a time I couldn't keep you inside, not in the snow or rain or cold." He sounds wistful as he speaks. "And Sister Margaret phoned me the other day and told me your studies have been suffering, and that you aren't paying attention during your lessons, and you're often falling asleep." I tense up at the thought of the head nun from my school telling my father what a terrible pupil I've been as of late, disappointing him, and the tears begin to flow again.

"I'm so sorry, Papa," I blubber. "I can be better, I promise," I have a hard time catching my breath.

"Oh no, my darling, I'm not upset with you, hush," he says, as he strokes my hair and kisses my temple. "It's just these problems may be too hard for just you to deal with on your own; you may need help." I nod my head in agreement, even though I am not clear as to what he means. "Just go back to sleep, my darling. Things will be better in the morning," The tendrils of sleep tug at me then, and I fall asleep in my father's arms.

The next morning my mother completely ignores me at the breakfast table, even as my father tries to keep the conversation going.

Before my sister died, it was clear that she favored her over me. Prim was a perfect child, and my mother showed her off often. It's not that my mother didn't show affection towards me; it was just with Prim's golden locks, sky-blue eyes, and her kind and lady-like ways she was the daughter that any mother would be proud of. In contrast I tended to draw out my mother's ire rather than her smiles. I'm a stubborn daddy's girl, a tomboy, my olive-colored skin always covered in a layer of dirt and grime. I will never be the shiny gem that Prim was.

Since Prim's death the relationship between my mother and me has gotten worse. She blames me for her daughter's death. My father tries to tell me that she is just grieving, that everyone handles death differently, but I know better. I was supposed to be watching Prim. It was my responsibility to keep her safe, but the young doe that had wandered just a few feet from me as I sat on the water's edge distracted me. I had followed the animal into the woods, until it got spooked and ran away. When I came back, Prim was gone.

I understand my mother's hatred for me, because I despise myself as well.

I do my best to pull myself together to head to school. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The shadows under my eyes are as dark as my tangled black hair. My disheveled uniform is riddled with wrinkles, but I don't care.

I lose focus in school again, and at one point, Sister Elizabeth takes a ruler to my unsuspecting knuckles when she discovers that I'm not paying attention. I swallow my cries, knowing making a noise would just result in another smack. The cruel nun smirks at me before tromping back to her desk.

My feet feel like lead on the walk home, and there is an unexplained nervous knot that has formed in my gut. An uneasiness seems to tug at the hairs on the back on my neck, and I have to turn around several times to make sure there is no one behind me.

The odd feeling becomes much more pronounced when I arrive home to find a black car in the shape of an ambulance but completely unmarked, parked in front our house. I open the front door, and it creaks loudly in greeting. I am in the midst of toeing off my shoes when my mother flies into the foyer to greet me, an unfamiliarly wide smile on her face.

"There you are, honey," she speaks in a gentle voice, the one she reserved only for Prim. My heart beats in my throat. Something is most certainly wrong. But before I can turn and flee from the house, the woman who has taken over my mother's body snatches my wrist and walks me forcefully into the living room. The sight there does nothing to assuage the terror building up inside of me.

A tall woman dressed in a white dress with a nest of blonde curls pinned to the top of her head, regards me curiously. Two men also dressed in white from head to toe—shirts, pants, slacks and coats—stand just behind her. My eyes wander and find my father in his favorite chair, except he isn't looking back at me; instead his head rests in his hands, his fingers lodged in his black hair.

"Papa?" I call to him, desperately hoping he gives me some sort of answers, as he is the only one I trust in this room.

"Hello, Katniss," the tall blonde addresses me. She takes a step towards me, and when she does, the men behind her close the distance as well. "My name is Effie Trinket, and I'm a nurse at Capitol Asylum. Do you know what kind of place that is?"

My lungs constrict painfully as I try to suck in air, but all it does is lodge itself in my throat. I give her a slow nod, as I can't help but recall the man up the road that had come back from Europe after the war, no longer right in the head. He would wander around Main Street having lively conversations with himself, and snapping at people if they walked too close to him. Then he put his fist through the window of the hardware store, and after that, no one ever saw him again. I heard my father tell my mother, when they thought I was out of earshot, that he was brought to a nearby asylum.

"Well," the nurse takes another step closer, followed by the men, "we hear you have had a tough time since your sister's unfortunate passing, and at our hospital we have children and young adults, just like yourself, who are going through the same things you are, and our doctors have been able to help them all a great deal."

"Then why are they still at your hospital?" I snap back. Nurse Trinket looks taken aback by my outburst at first, but quickly recovers, her earlier overly calm smile pulling on her lips once more.

"Katniss, my dear, the road to wellness is not an easy one. There are bumps and setbacks, but with the kind of compassion and therapy that we offer at The Capitol, we will get you there."

"But what if I don't want to go?" I ask, trying to keep the tremor in my voice to a minimum, but my slamming pulse makes it hard.

"Well unfortunately, your parents have decided that this is what's best for you right now." I turn and find my mother's tired pale-blue eyes staring back at me. I lock my eyes with hers and silently appeal to any shred of love that she still may harbor for me, begging her to put an end to this. But instead of doing that, she turns away from me. This is when I spin and explode into a run, desperately trying to get away from the place I have lived my whole life but that suddenly doesn't feel like home anymore.

The tips of my fingers just brush against the brass doorknob when I feel a pair of crushing arms wrap around me and drag me back into the room. I begin to scream and kick and flail, but my muscular captor won't give me an inch. My father is standing now; his fists are clenched at his side, and his face is turning red.

"Don't hurt my daughter," he warns the man. My father begins moving towards me, but the tall blonde sticks her hand out to stop him.

"Mr. Everdeen, you have to understand that we know what's best for those —like Katniss— who suffer from these ailments. It's why your wife called us, after all." I close my eyes; I would rather never look at my mother again.

"But maybe there is another way?" he pleads.

"If left untreated, your daughter's condition could worsen, and then no one would be able to save her." I peek through my lashes and see my father's face fall. He looks to me then, tears apparent in his eyes.

"Papa, please!" I scream and begin to flail again. "They're just dreams!" I try to pull myself closer to my father. "I promise I'll do better in school, I'll be better. Please, Papa," I beg.

_I'm sorry_, he mouths, and then lowers his head again. I sag into my captor's arms in defeat. They could take me anywhere now for all I care. I just don't want to be here anymore.

I shut down at that point. I only know I'm in the car, because them slamming the door rattles me a bit, but no one speaks to me, and the whir of the car as it makes its way further and further away from the life I used to know miraculously lulls me to sleep.

When I wake later, it is dark outside, and it takes me a long moment to realize where I am, but one of the men in white is sitting next to me and a wave of reality crashes around me.

I glance out the window with bleary eyes, and I'm greeted by an eerie sight. The car slowly crawls up a steep hill, and when my focus moves to the top of the slope, I see a sprawling, four-story brick mansion with a myriad of spires reaching towards the starlit sky. The structure is stunning, probably the most beautiful building I have ever seen in my life, but the feeling I get when I look at it is anything but serene, as if its superficial beauty is only there to hide the ugliness inside. Tears begin to sting my eyes, and I swallow back a sob.

Nurse Trinket, on the other hand, looks as though she has missed every minute away from the ominous building. She sighs in relief before turning to me, her smile as ghoulish as the car's destination.

"Katniss Everdeen," she beams, pointing a finger to the top of the hill, "welcome to The Capitol"

* * *

**Thank you so much for checking out this new fic of mine. I hope you are intrigued enough to continue!**

**I guess this fic is technically considered a Historical AU as it takes place in '48, but mostly it takes place back then because of the state of mental health institutions at that time. This fic will get pretty dark, and odd. It is rated M for sexual content, violence, mentions of gruesome psychiatric treatments such as lobotomies, shock therapy, straight jackets and padded rooms etc. **

***As a note: Neither K or P will receive a lobotomy in this story, and both will be alive at the end!**

**Even though Capitol Asylum in this story is a private hospital, the images that Ro used in the banners, and the inspiration for this fic are courtesy of Danvers State Mental Hospital in Danvers, Massachusetts. The hospital has long been closed, and turned into condos, but the history is very interesting (and somewhat terrifying) so if you are interested in that type of stuff definitely look it up. Also before they demolished the buildings I took a tour of the grounds and got some amazing pictures which I will post on my tumblr when I get to a scanner. And as a fun fact... Arkham asylum in batman is based off the fictitious asylum that H. P. Lovecraft used in his stories, and that asylum is based off of Danvers State...so yeah.**

**Now I would like to thank Court81981 for being my patronus, for being my friend, for encouraging my wacky ideas, for fixing my mistakes, and for generally just being awesome! ILY Also thank you to Pookieh and Peetasbunmyoven for prereading and giving me the impression this idea was good enough for the general public. And thank you to Ro for making me some intensely creepy banners! haha! You kick ass! **

**I do not own the Hunger Games...unfortunately...**

**Visit me on tumblr: streetlightlove1**

**and a small note... I am sorry about the delay with A Healing Heart... I was in a terrible funk when it came to my writing recently, but this idea has kind of rejuvenated the writer in me, and I am working diligently on AHH and hopefully will have that for you soon! Thanks for your patience!**

**And again...Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N to follow...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The car comes to an abrupt stop at the right side of the building. Everything around us is pitch blackness, save for the small lantern that hangs on the building, illuminating a doorway just below. The door I have been leaning against is wrenched open and a meaty hand reaches in, wraps itself around my arm, and pulls me out of the car and to my feet, which waver beneath me.

"Easy," Nurse Trinket warns. "She won't be giving us any trouble, will you Katniss?" She looks at me, and I nod numbly, earning a comically large smile from her. "Wonderful!" she gushes, before turning to head towards the entrance, the heels of her shoes clicking on the paved path.

I step through the door, which Nurse Trinket holds open. The inside of the hospital is dimly lit and eerily quiet. Our shadows lengthen frighteningly against the walls as we walk down the hall; the air is stale and scratches at my already dry throat, staving off the screech that wants to tear its way out of my mouth.

The walls of the long corridors seem to close in, becoming narrower and narrower with every turn we take, and the sound of Nurse Trinket's clicking heels mixes with the sound of my heart beating in my ear, filling me with an intense feeling of dread. I have never felt so scared as I do now, walking blindly into the unknown.

We stop at a small desk manned by a stout nurse whose skin takes on a ghoulish green tinge in the low light.

"Good evening, Octavia," Nurse Trinket greets cheerfully. "How has your night been?

"Quiet," the younger nurse says with a smile.

"Oh good." Nurse Trinket claps her hands together before turning to me. Her smile is so genuine that it begins to ease my mounting anxiety. "You know, dear," she addresses me, "you are so very fortunate that your family could afford to send you to a private hospital." Her voice rises in such a snooty tone that I forget about focusing on her easing smile. "You _do not_ want to go to one of those state hospitals... butcheries, all of them." She sounds convincing enough, but I would still rather be anywhere than here.

After writing something on a few sheets of paper that Octavia places in front of her, Nurse Trinket grabs a large ring of keys from the desk, takes my bags from the orderlies, and gestures for them to stay behind. She leads me through a door to our right, which she unlocks using a long silver key.

We enter a small hallway, which is a tad more illuminated than the previous parts of the hospital. In front of us is a set of closed double doors. When my eyes focus on the image painted on them, I gasp. Nurse Trinket stops and glances back at me.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" she chimes in, misinterpreting my alarm. I stare back at the painting of a strange bird, a bird I have only seen once before—the bird that was on the pin that Prim gave me, the same pin that now lies grasped in her dead hand, deep down in the cold earth.

"Who painted it?" I ask; my voice quivers with each word.

"Another patient in this ward. Such talent!" she gushes proudly, like a mother over her own child.

"Wh-what kind of bird is it?"

"He tells me it's called a mockingjay," she answers.

"A mockingjay." I test the word out, feeling a strange familiarity growing inside of me. "I never knew what it was called," I say, more to myself, but I hear Nurse Trinket laugh softly next to me.

"Oh my dear." Her eyes light up brighter than the small room we stand in. "That is because they don't exist."

"Oh," I blurt out without thinking. "I thought they were real. My sister, she—"

"Yes, well," Nurse Trinket cuts me off, quickly indicating that she could care less about any personal anecdote that I'm about to share. "It's been a long night, let's get you settled in your room."

Neither of us utters a word until we are standing in front of a brown door labeled with a chrome-colored number four.

"I'm sorry we were not able to find you a room of your own, but many people are eager to find treatment at The Capitol." I have my doubts about what she is telling me, but I compliantly nod. "But it really doesn't matter, since your roommate Annie doesn't talk much, it will be like you have the room all to yourself." She chuckles, clearly amused with herself, but my head feels heavy, my body feels numb. I am done playing along tonight.

She opens the door, revealing a pitch-black room. When the light from the hall floods in, I can make out the silhouette of a girl dressed in a nightgown, lying above the blankets clutched into a fetal position, seemingly asleep, but her mouth is screwed tight and her eyes clenched so hard that I can't be sure.

"Well here you are, my dear," Nurse Trinket addresses me in a hushed voice. "This is yours," she says with a gesture over towards the neatly made bed off to the right. "That closet is yours." Her long finger points to a closed door near the bed. "And that is your bathroom." She points to another door. "Sleep tight, Katniss, you have a big, big, big day tomorrow!" She pats me once on my shoulder and quickly scurries out of the room.

I walk into the small bathroom, pull on the light, and look at myself in the mirror. The prominent bags under my red-veined eyes look like bruises, and my skin is paler than I have ever seen it before. _When's the last time I ate? _I try to remember, but attempting to think about anything hurts my head. I use the toilet then wash my hands, splashing water on my face before turning off the light. I toe off my shoes and crawl under the covers of my _new _bed, clothes and all.

My roommate still looks to be in the same state of distress she was when I entered the room, but she hasn't moved, so I suppose she is actually asleep, and though I know I should still be alarmed by the day's events, my tired eyes want desperately to close, so I let them.

* * *

_I'm wet…_

_A constant frigid rain pours down on top of me. A chill sets so deeply in me that my bones are screaming in pain. I look around. I am propped against a tree, my backside sinking into the mud; my hands look smaller than I remember, and the skin is tight over protruding bones. _

_A gloriously warm smell wafts into my nose. My eyes glance up and find a small weathered building labeled "Bakery" positioned in front of me. My stomach burns with hunger pains, to the point of nausea. I need food, but I somehow know it would not be safe for me to acquire some from the bakery._

_I take a shallow, shuddering breath that makes my lungs spasm and a hacking cough tears from my mouth. It is then I realize I am going to die_

_I just want to be warm again…_

_My eyes close, I decide, for the last time, and I wait for the end. _

_A screech brings me to attention; my glazed over eyes focus on the door of the bakery, as a faceless boy, no older than twelve, is practically shoved out of it, in his hand a loaf of bread. _

"_Feed the pig, you stupid creature!" I hear a woman yell, but my eyes are focused on the loaf of bread, which appears to be blackened on one end. _

_I watch the boy walk down the steps to a pig pen just on the side of the building. He pulls off a chunk of the burnt end and tosses it to the squealing animal before him, who ravenously devours it, and my mouth begins to water. _

_The boy spins around in my direction, wet blond hair splayed against his forehead. I can't see his eyes, but I can feel him staring at me, and all I can think is how ashamed I am that this boy is seeing me this way. _

_I contemplate getting up and fleeing, finding another tree to die under, when the bread that the boy was holding suddenly lands just inches from me. When I look up, I find the boy already running back up the stairs to the bakery, so I grab the bread, stuff it under my shirt, and run. _

I wake with a start; my stomach growls violently and I can still feel the heat on my belly where the warm bread pressed against it.

When my eyes adjust to being awake, I look around and immediately startle again when I find that my roommate is sitting cross-legged on her bed... studying me.

"Hi," I say weakly, my voice hoarse. "You're Annie, right?" She doesn't say anything.

"Um, I'm Katniss," I offer. Her eyebrows furrow at my name, and she looks like she is trying to place my face, but I have never seen her before in my life.

Our staring match is interrupted by the door flinging open and a round, angry-looking nurse barges in.

"Let's go. Breakfast time," she barks, before spinning around and stomping away.

I get out of bed and look down to find myself still wearing my rumpled school uniform from the day before, but my grumbling stomach stops me from changing, and I walk towards the door. I turn to see if Annie is behind me, but instead she is face down in her pillow.

"Aren't you coming?" I ask softly. I watch her shake her head in the pillow. "Ok," I whisper, before walking out into the hallway.

An orderly points down the hall to my right. I can see other girls about my age shuffling in almost a line towards something I can't see because they move out of sight. I move to follow them and eventually the line leads me to into a cafeteria. The smells that fill the room are enough to make me sigh out loud and for my stomach to groan loudly.

I follow the girls into the line, and wait as patiently as possible to reach the food. I glance around as I wait, and notice that it is not just girls in the cafeteria, but boys as well. I feel my cheeks blush.

I have gone to an all-girls school my whole life, and outside of school it was usually just Prim and me, so besides the few times that they bussed in boys from a nearby prep school to our school dances, I haven't really been around many. Boys have never really been a concern of mine, but I now wish I had changed out of this stupid uniform.

When I reach the front of the line, I am handed a tray with a bowl of porridge, a small, bruised red apple and a carton of milk. I thank the woman, who grunts in response. I turn to scan the room. It's eerily quiet, though people are sitting together and I see a few engaged in hushed conversation while several orderlies walk menacingly around the tables. I spot an empty table in a far corner and head that way. I am used to being alone, especially since Prim has been gone. So being by myself makes no difference to me now.

I begin to shovel the lumpy gray mush into my mouth. It's tasteless paste, but it calms my hungry stomach, so I continue to eat. I drop the spoon into the empty bowl and am about to grab the apple when a shiver runs up my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I look up, my eyes almost immediately finding a boy with blond hair, about my age, glaring back at me, his face twisted in disgust.

I look down abruptly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger. What have I ever done to this boy that I deserve his ire? What's wrong with me that he has to glare at me like that? I self-consciously smooth down the material of my plaid skirt, and try to go back to my meal, but I can still feel his eyes on me, so I don't do much more than roll the apple around the table, and bite the inside of my lip until I taste a hint of copper.

A nurse enters the cafeteria a short time later to indicate mealtime is over. I sigh in relief and gather the remnants of my meal. I slip the apple and an unopened milk carton into the pockets of my skirt, and start to take my tray to the garbage barrel on the other side of the room.

I don't make it though. Instead, I trip over something and fall flat on my face, my dishes scattering across the room. The impact crushes the milk in my pocket and the liquid begins to soak my stockings.

I hear laughter next to me. A hulking boy looks down with a cruel smirk, his leg jutting out in my direction and I know it is what I tripped over, and the self-satisfied look on the dirty blonde's face tells me it was on purpose.

Normally if something like this had happened to me in school, like when Madge Undersee yanked on my braid in grade five, I would have punched them square in the face, but between one boy glaring at me and the other humiliating me in front of everyone, and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness, all I want to do is cry.

Burning hot tears sting my eyes, and I can feel a sob begin to form in my throat, and normal breathing becomes harder. I begin to pull myself off the floor; my ears ring with the sound of snickers and whispers all around me. When I stand up, those snickers turn to raucous laughter.

"Did she piss herself?" someone asks loudly, causing another eruption of laughter. I look down to find that the whole front of my skirt is wet with the destroyed milk that was once in my pocket.

I can feel myself begin to shake, and a wave of nausea runs through me. Splotches of white begin to stain my vision, but before I give in and slump to the ground I feel someone grab my arm and jerk it abruptly. I look up to find a girl who looks older than me, with large, angry brown eyes and dark hair that looks like it was cut by a drunk half-wit with gardening shears.

"Don't let them see you cry," she hisses at me. "They will make you pay for it."

"Miss Mason!" I recognize the high, nasally voice of Nurse Trinket. "You will unhand Miss Everdeen right this instant."

The girl squeezes tight, causing me to flinch, before she lets go of my arm and turns to face the nurse.

"What's the problem, Trinket? Afraid I'm going to _fuck _the new girl in front of the whole cafeteria?" My eyes widen and I take a step back, letting my jaw drop open.

"Johanna!" Nurse Trinket scolds. "What have I told you about that kind of language?"

The girl snorts in response, but when she catches eye of the surrounding orderlies closing in, the defiant smirk falls off her face and she lifts her hands up in self-defense.

"I was just trying to make the new girl feel welcome, since Cato's way of welcoming her is tripping her to the floor," Johanna blurts out, before looking over to the blonde brute still laughing in my direction.

Nurse Trinket raises an eyebrow to Cato, but does nothing else.

"Head back to the common room, Johanna." She sighs, then glances over to me. "You can go to your room to change," she says to me, before moving to help the orderlies clear the room.

I wipe my eyes and quickly sneak out the door I came in. I practically jog down the hallway towards my room. When I take the final corner, I stop short as I catch sight of the boy who was glaring at me earlier, standing at a door. When he starts to look around, I duck back around the corner. I count to ten before looking back, but by then he's gone.

I move to see what door he went through, as I don't remember there being patient rooms in this part of the hallway, but I hear someone cackling with laughter behind me, so instead I break into a run again, and don't stop until I push my way through the door to my bedroom.

I recoil a bit when I find a boy with reddish hair sitting in a chair next to Annie's bed, but my skirt is drenched and I am overwhelmed and frustrated, and right now I don't care who is here. So I go to my bags that are still resting on the floor in front of my bed. I open one and pull out the first shirt and skirt I can find. I know my mother must have packed these, so there won't be any of the pants that I used to wear to do chores or walk in the woods in here.

I walk into the washroom, shutting the door behind me. I strip down and put on the clean clothes—a green blouse and brown tweed skirt. I soak my soiled skirt and blouse in the sink, and then hang it on the radiator behind me. Then I splash water on my face, and leave the bathroom, and plop onto my bed.

The copper-haired boy is still sitting next to Annie's bed. He pays me no mind, but Annie doesn't seem to be paying attention to him. She just stares straight ahead while he murmurs quietly to her.

I throw my head into my hands, and begin scrubbing my face furiously. Images of the glaring boy, the bully Cato, the crazy girl Johanna, and all the other kids who laughed and taunted me while I lay helpless on the ground appear in the forefront of my mind. I can hear their cruel laughter in my ears, and I stick my fingers in them to stop the sound. My head shoots up.

"Is everyone here _insane_!?" I blurt out the question, and immediately burst into tears. I miss my home. I miss my dad. I even miss my mom. I have been here less than a day and already I feel more alone than I have felt in my entire life. More alone than the first night I slept in my room without Prim.

I feel the mattress beneath me sink, but I can't stop my sobs. A hand gently touches my shoulder. I look up, and through tear-clouded eyes I can see my roommate Annie sitting next to me. Her brows knit with worry. I want to say something, to voice my surprise, but before I can, she has pulled me into her embrace, holding me tightly with her slender arms. This small comfort, this moment of compassion is too much, and louder, more hysterical cries begin to wrack my body.

Eventually my tears ebb, leaving me sniffling and wiping tears from my face with the heel of my hands. I pull back from Annie; she smiles sweetly.

"To answer your question," she whispers, her voice so very fragile. "Yes, we are all insane, but I think that's the point."

A snort of laughter escapes me, causing Annie's eyes to widen in surprise, but soon she is softly chuckling with me.

"I'm so hungry," Annie laments suddenly, to know one in particular. "Is it still breakfast time?" I look over to the redhead, who still sits next to Annie's bed, watching us, sadness veiling his eyes.

"Breakfast is over, love," he tells her, before quickly rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

"Oh," Annie whispers and bows her head.

"I have an apple." I add, "It's a little bruised, but you can have it if you want." I don't wait for her to answer before I get up and retrieve the apple from the edge of the bathroom sink.

When I hand it to her, I am rewarded with a large smile. Her sea-green eyes widen just before she bites into the battered flesh, and she lets out a small groan as she chews. When I look up at the boy, he is smiling at me.

"Thank you," he mouths, and I nod in return.

After devouring the apple, Annie introduces the boy as Finnick, her fiance. She tells me that as soon as the doctors say she can leave, they are going to get married and move to the Gulf Coast. Finnick smiles, and adds his bit to the conversation, but I can see the wistfulness in his eyes—the lost look one gets when something is truly hopeless.

I know that look.

I see it in the mirror everyday.

* * *

The days start to pass. Annie falls in and out of her catatonic state. Some days she doesn't snap out of it at all, and other days she seems no different than any other girl. But no matter her state of mind, Finnick is always here, by her side. From what I have heard, boys are not allowed to be in a girl's bedroom, but that doesn't seem to bother him.

I begin to make sure that I grab extra food at mealtimes, for both of them, since Finnick frequently misses his meals as well.

"Why don't you go get some food? I'll be here if she wakes up," I tell him one evening, as the dinner bell rings. Annie has had a bad day today and has been staring at the same spot on the wall for hours now. Finnick smiles to himself.

"It's ok, I want whatever I can get of Annie. I don't want to miss a thing."

* * *

The next week seems to drag by. Despite my reservations, I am made to take several medications each day. I am told the daily cocktail has been prescribed to me by the head psychiatrist, a Doctor Aurelius, who I have never met but I am told has my best interests in mind.

The drugs leave me feeling listless; everything is hazy and my feet feel like lead. Everyone around me looks like they are on the same sort of medication, and I highly suspect that they just mean to keep us sedated enough to control us.

Since that first morning in the cafeteria, the other kids have left me alone, except for Cato who growled in my ear once when we passed each other in the hallway.

I spend as much time as I can in my room, but sometimes the nurses will force me out into the common room to interact with the other patients, but even there I keep to myself.

The boy who glared at me that first morning—Peeta, as I found out from Finnick—still seems to hate me for no apparent reason. Either he completely ignores my presence or stares at me, his face filled with something I can only reconcile to be contempt. The other day when I accidentally brushed by him in the cafeteria, he recoiled from me like he had been burned. Today, he has decided to pretend I don't exist.

A bunch of us are crammed into the common room. Most seem to be involved in some sort of activity, like chess or cards, but I just sit in an off-white armchair and stare out the small barred window across from me. A commotion sounds from behind me. I turn just in time to watch the oafish boy Cato flip one of the card tables with an angry scream. He grabs the collar of the young boy I saw him playing with and pushes him to the ground. I suck in a shaky breath.

Cato starts stomping around the room, on the verge of a tantrum. The sight of his hulking form makes me nervous, and my eyes begin to shift around, desperate to locate my escape route, but it's no use. Where would I go? So instead I sink back into the chair, trying to make myself as unimposing as possible.

The boy's behavior becomes more and more erratic with every moment that passes, and I wonder as to why the orderlies have not gotten involved yet—that is, until the thought crosses my mind that they might be afraid of this boy as well. After all, he towers over most of them. I gulp.

"Stop fucking looking at me," he screams, and then picks up the wooden chair to his left, and glances around menacingly before throwing it across the room.

A small cry escapes my lips before I am able to stop it, and I am sure he has heard it and will fling the next piece of furniture in my direction, but instead I find Peeta is standing in front of me. Not only that, but he has grasped my hand in his, and quickly pulls me to my feet.

"Come on," he says quietly, for my ears only, and hurriedly takes me out of the room, down a small hallway, then out a set of double doors, out into a stairwell that seems to have not seen much activity in recent years.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, he drops my hand and brings his fingers up to rub his temples.

"Once Cato gets going it can get bad; people can get hurt," he informs me.

"Oh," I answer lamely, not knowing what else to say. Then the boy tilts his head up, and for the first time I get a clear look into his blue eyes, which look tired, angry, and scared all at the same time.

"I'm Peeta," he says a few seconds later, his voice catching on his name.

"Um, Katniss," I reply.

"Yeah, I know," he says, before turning away from me to look out the crack that the slightly ajar door makes. I want to ask him how he knows, but I never expected to have any sort of dialogue with him, and it feels odd being around him, so instead I ask the second question on my mind.

"Why did you help me?" He doesn't turn around, but I watch him bow his head.

"Because he would have hurt you," he states earnestly.

"But what about the other people in the room? Couldn't he hurt them as well?"

Peeta sighs. "Yeah well, you're new. You don't know how Cato can get."

"I just don't understand why you helped me." I take a step closer to him, but he

still won't look at me.

"I just did what I was supposed to do, ok?" I hear the frustration in his voice, and although I want to question him more, I don't know how he would react if pushed, so I back off, and nervously chew my thumbnail instead.

A few silent moments later, Peeta opens the door wider, and sticks his head out to scan the area. I assume he deems it safe, because he steps out and beckons me to follow him with his hand. I do, but keep a safe distance behind him.

Once we are back near the common area, Peeta walks quickly away from me without a word. I mean to call out to him in gratitude for what he did for me, as strange as it was, but the words never leave my throat, and instead my eyes widen at the sight of puddles of blood on the floor near my feet. It must have come from whoever Cato got his hands on.

_That blood could have been mine! _I shudder at the thought. I came close to being Cato's victim, had it not been for Peeta.

* * *

That night I fall into a fretful sleep, but sometime during it, I dream…

_The fluorescent light in the room hurts my eyes, so I look down at my hand instead, which is gently running through a head of thick blond hair. It feels like a luxury. So soft, so smooth. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't for the life of me figure out how I lived without the feel of these golden strands running through my fingers._

"_You're still trying to protect me, real or not real?" the boy whispers suddenly, and I halt my movements, and think about the answer. The next words spill out of my mouth. _

"_Real...Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other."_

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! When I first started writing this it was only to get this story out of my head, so I am pleasantly surprised by the positive feedback I have gotten so far! Thank you so much! **

**Thank you so much to the incredible Court81981 who gave my writing CPR and maybe a few shocks with a paddle when the slump I was in left it DOA! Her encouragement helped spark something , and I am finally able to get the words on the screen again! YAY!**

**And Thank you to the lovely Pookieh who I gave this to only a little while ago and was like "READ THIS NOW" and she did...and still added her helpful suggestions, her theories and her words of encouragement instead of telling me to fuck off... LOL!**

**I really tried to portray the asylum in this story as accurate as possible to the period, but I did take some liberties, when needed. All inaccuracies are my own.**

**Visit me on Tumblr: Streelightlove1**

**Thanks again! **


End file.
